What's Sup, Danny Phantom?
by allakimbotoday
Summary: When Sam and Dean's cross-country shenanigans take them to the most haunted city in the U.S...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

"Well, I guess we're in the right place," Dean pointed up at the sign. It was blinking yellow in the night. The car door slammed shut behind him. He looked at the town below. "Doesn't seem like much of a city."

Sam turned the road map sideways. "It _is_ in Minnesota." Frowning, he turned the map again. "At least, I think it's in Minnesota."

"Guess that's why it seems so dead."Dean smiled at his own pun. "And not in you know, the ghost-y way."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I get it."

As he said this, Sam saw a streak of light arch overhead. It was close and bubbled a radioactive green that crackled through the air. Screeching behind -and barely missing the Impala Dean and Sam had arrived in- a large RV came to an abrupt stop. Of course, they assumed it was an RV. It also had the general shape of a tank, but they weren't sure you could drive a tank on the highway. A redhead leaned out of an open passenger window. She was reaching middle-age, but still impressive looking, wearing what looked like a skintight scuba suit. Sam and Dean stared as the woman hefted what looked like a telescope wrapped in dozens of electrical wires.

"Go back to the unholy depths from whence you came, ghost!". With a terrifying grimace she aimed the probable telescope and a beam of light launched into the air towards the shrinking green speck. The Winchester brothers dropped to the ground as a nearby tree burst into flames. The scent of pine mixed with the burning stench of ectoplasmic energy.

Sam patted his brother on the shoulder as they stood up. "Guess we're in the right town."

They turned back towards the RV. "Darnit to betsies," spat the lady. "I missed."

A gruff but mollifying voice emerged from the passenger side of the RV. "Sorry, sweetcakes. I should have drove faster. The clutch sticks like the Dickens on this thing."

The two brother's stood, bemused, watching the family farce unfold in front of them. "I thought we were supposed to be on vacation?" added yet another voice. This one was female, like the woman's, though noticeably younger.

Yet another voice added, "Yeah, what about "quality" family time?" This one was a boy's, cracking halfway through. The RV revved as whomever inside shifted gears. The RV glubbing away, the last thing the Winchesters heard was the deep voice answering, "Ghost hunting is family time, kids."

Sam and Dean gave each other a look and headed back into the their 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Opening the passenger door, Sam clambered in. "Kinda reminds me of someone. Well someones."

Dean grunted as he turned over the engine. "Who?"

"Remember those guys from Wisconsin? The Ghostbusters or something?"

"Ugh, the deadbeats crawling all over the Morton Place?"

"Yeah, seems like their kind of... scene. Wonder if they ever got here….?"

Dean made a sour face. "Let's just avoid them and whatever dipshits this town has cooked up, okay?" The Impala's engine purred with a velvet growl, "Okay?" Dean repeated.

Sam laughed as they drove past the welcome sign that had greeted them from the highway. "Yeah, okay."

 _Amity Park: America's Most Haunted City_!


	2. Chapter 2

2

The camping trip turned out to be bust. After 3 hours of ghost chasing, the Fenton family spent the night at home, duffel bags still packed, s'mores uneaten. And with no ghost to show for it. And it was Danny who ended up having to sneak out to catch it. It ended up being just a low level spectre. But in catching it, Danny ended up fighting a few other ghosts he would have preferred not to meet at 3 am.

"Late night, huh?" Tucker's voice yelled in his ear. Danny jumped up from his dozing, so surprised, he went incorporeal. Just for a second, but it was enough to slip through the bench and butt-first on the ground. Danny whipped around, wondering if anyone saw him. He did hear Flash yell, "Smooth move, Fenton-y!" and the peal of distant laughter. But no screams, no aw's of surprise, nothing out of the ordinary. Tucker unsuccessfully tried to stifle his laughing..

Sam reached down to help him up. "Don't worry, no one saw," she said dryly.

"Yeah, yeah." Danny took her hand and plopped himself back onto the bench. He tried to ignore the tingly feeling Sam's hand had left in his own. "Well if my secret identity was revealed to the whole school, we can thank Tucker."

"Not the whole school," Tucker protested. "Just half the cafeteria."

"That's still most of the school." Danny looked around at the deluge of students sitting on picnic tables, underneath trees, everyone enjoying the sunny day. No one was going to stay inside if they could help it. "Since my parents started taking me out on their patrols I've had to do double time." Danny sighed, rubbing his head. "And last night was a doozy."

"So who kept you out all night?" Sam asked, concern breaking her usual monotone. "Skulker? Johnny? She hesitated a second, "Vlad?"

"All three." Tucker and Sam inhaled sharply, sympathetic. "Though thankfully not all at once. And really Vlad just came by to gloat about some scheme or another. But I had my hands full all night," He dragged his hands down his face, giving himself a ghoulish appearance. "By the time I got back I could hear the birds chirping out my window."

Tucker tried to lighten Danny's mood. (He knew Sam's could never be lightened.) "Ah birds, Amnityville's true plague." A little more sincerely he added, "Sorry, man."

Sam added sternly, "You should have let us know. We're here to help."

"Yeah, what else are cellphones for besides texting your friends when spectres are afoot?" Tucker had pulled out his latest phone, giving it a long, overacted kiss. Danny didn't know what kind of cell plan the Foley's were on, but it kept Tucker knee deep in new phones. Danny had kept to an old Nokia, the only thing that could survive his nightly rounds.

Despite the light heartedness, guilt was spread over his two friend's faces. Danny felt it too and it was why he hadn't called for help last night. Sam and Tucker'd been out almost as much as he had. Last night's _Femalien 3_ showing had been his friend's first night off in weeks. It was supposed to be his as well but he never made it to the theater. Sometime after round three with Skulker he'd regretted not going. But he was the one with superpowers. And with great power comes great fatigue.

He laid his head on the table, relishing the sensation of closing his eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I just… didn't want to ruin the movie." He knew it was a lame excuse. And opening one eye, he could see Sam and Tucker thought it too.

"Well, that's a stupid reason," stated Sam. "Just call us next time." The sarcasm melted out of her voice, "There's no reason to do it alone." Danny was about to reply when the bell rang, calling them back to class.


	3. Chapter 3

3

"So what'd you find out about this place, Sam?" Dean stared up at the warehouse. It was huge and rusting at the edges. Traffic hummed behind him and his brother.

"Well, there's plenty on this place in the ghost-hunting forums." Dean made a disgusted snort. Sam ignored it. "So that means plenty on current sightings, theories, the juicy stuff. But less on the history." Sam had the same opinions as Dean about "ghost hunters". He just wasn't gonna let Dean know that. "The most I could get was an article from about 30 years back. Some kind of industrial accident. No names, just a date and one unnamed casualty."

"So who's the guy?"

"Well, mainly some blue collar guy -and I mean actually, blue- who frightens off school kids. Not violent."

Dean frowned, "So why are we here if the guy's not dangerous? We've got the whole town to choose from."

"Well, according to eyewitnesses there's another apparition. A 'ghost boy' who shows up all over. Not tied to one location. And unlike the other guy he's caused some mayhem."

"Geeze, what kid dies and has that much anger on hand?"

Sam opened the trunk. "I dunno, ask Leticia's kids."

"Nah. Those freaks were messed up way before they died." Dean maneuvered over to Sam, pocketing a few salt rounds out of a duffle bag. "You still haven't told me why we're here."

"That's because you interrupted me." Sam gave Dean a bit of a shove. "As I said, the 'Ghost Kid' shows up all over but there's a few spots he show's up the most. The first is a city park a few blocks north. Then an old diner that no one's bothered to close down. And this place." He pointed up at the warehouse.

"So why'd we go here instead of the diner? Could've used a burger…"

"First of all, most of the diner's reviews included the words 'food poisoning'." Sam pulled out a shotgun and shut the trunk. "Second, an abandoned warehouse is a lot less conspicuous."

Dean smiled and snapped the barrel of his revolver back into place.

The warehouse was barely lit, sunlight barely reaching Sam and Dean from the high, grimy windows. And that late faded fast in the late afternoon. Crates lay broken around them, looking less like the result of decay and more the casualties of a brawl. Still, everything looked quiet.

"Hey you think Wrestlemania practices here on the weekends?" Dean kicked a bit of splintered plywood.

"I don't think wrestlers clean after themselves," Sam pointed at a pile of boxes, perfectly stacked amid the chaos. Other stacks spread themselves throughout the room.

Dean locked the safety and holstered his gun. Reaching over he braced himself and quickly lifted a box. Then nearly fell over with the follow-through. Recovering for a second, he shook it then dropped the box to the floor. Flipping a flap open he grinned up at Sam. "Empty."

Sam stepped over, lightly kicking a few more boxes. "Sounds like they're all empty." He rifled through a few others just to be sure. "Why would someone stack a whole bunch of empty boxes."

"You think it's a drug thing?"

"Why would it be a drug thing."

"I dunno. Like Batman. And those stuffed rabbits."

"This isn't a comic book."

"Well with this many ghost sightings, drugs laced in the water would be a good explanation."

"Whatever. Place looks deserted. Guess the diner it is." Sam turned back towards the door they'd left open. Which then shut before either of the brothers could reach it. Instinctively they turned towards one another as the warehouse dropped in temperature. And with the cold, the figure of a man rose. He was dressed in rotting coveralls, ghoulish-looking and glowing blue in the last of the daylight.

"Beware! You have entered the domain of the Box Ghost! All who enter are contained here forevermore!"

Dean gave Sam a look. "Definitely a drug thing."


	4. Chapter 4

4

This night patrol was quiet for Danny. The spectro-scanner he'd stolen from his parents lab was beeping along nicely- no alarms yet. Danny had been tempted to stay in after last night's chaos. But like always, he had ignored it. Thankfully his parents had turned turned in early, giving him an earlier start. The sky was turning purple with the sunset and Danny stopped, floating and admiring the view.

"Falcon Razor Christmas. Come in. Falcon Razor Christmas." Tucker's voice came in, shriller and louder than any human should sound.

"Arrlgh!" Danny shouted and he yanked out his earpiece before Tucker could say anything else. After a moment, he brought it up to his ear again, now at a safer distance. He could hear Sam in the background. "You got exactly none of those phonetics right."

Tucker spoke back to her. "Well, it doesn't matter as long as Danny understands." Louder he said, "Right, Danny? You got it, right?"

"Yeash, lower it down Tucker. You sound like you're at the SuperDome."

"I pride myself on my projection."

"Come on. Where's the volume control on this?"

"Sorry , no can do. Stuck as is."

Danny heard Sam scolding in the background. "I told you it was too loud." Then she was talking to him, crackling through the radio. "Since Tucker doesn't understand anything older than a Windows 98, you'll just have to go prematurely deaf."

"Why didn't we just use another cellphone then?"

Tucker was quick to respond. "Maybe because you trashed your past 6 cellphones ghost hunting. And my last two." There was a pause and Tucker's voice strained with emotion. "They were too good for this world."

"Uggh, keep your technophilia to yourself," Sam quipped.

Tucker ignored her. "Ah well, the new cell's doing pretty nicely. So I'm not letting Danny anywhere near it." Danny could hear Tucker glaring at him through the walkie talkie. "Anyways, ghost fighting is a two handed job. You can't have a cell phone weighing you down."

"So what, I get a battery pack?"

"Hey, I worked hard on that battery pack! And yes, a battery back that charges all your ghost equipment, not just the walkie talkie."

Sam interrupted. "Okay, okay, we get it. Danny doesn't have to worry about his minutes. And can still call for backup. So he doesn't get beat up _like a little punk_."

Danny cringed. _Guess Sam was still angry about last night_. "Sorry."

Tucker just laughed. "Well, next time you're pummeled by Box Ghost because _you_ decided to go it alone, we'll never let you live it down."

"Yeah, it'll be in the senior yearbook and everything." Sam added, easing up a little. "With pictures."

 _Ouch_. Danny already had enough embarrassing stuff going into the yearbook. Dash was buddy buddy with the yearbook club photographer, a cute brunette who enjoyed causing humiliation almost as much as Dash did.

"You won't need to go that far. Besides, tonight's so slow I might actually get some sl-" He was cut off by an alarm, the Fenton finder going off.

"I can hear that Danny, where is it?" Sam asked, apprehension in her voice. "Do you need backup?"

"I dunno…" It took a few seconds for Danny to orient himself, turning this way and that til he got a fixed location. "Location...south. Near the shipping district." Danny exhaled. "Scratch the backup. It's just Box Ghost."

"Again?"

"Yeah, again? Didn't you kick his butt last night?" Tucker sounded farther away, like he and Sam had switched places.

"Mostly. He didn't get any thermos time. But he doesn't usually act out after a fight." Danny was flying fast towards the warehouse where he and Box had duked it out last night. Actually it was where they usually duked it out. He could see a faint glow emanating from the top windows. "Yep, there's definitely ghostly activity. Lit up like a gas station."

"Maybe someone's messing around in the warehouse?" asked Sam.

Tucker answered before Danny could respond. "Who in Amity Park would be crazy enough to do that?"


	5. Chapter 5

5

Dean spit out a mouthful of styrofoam. He lay sprawled in a pile of crushed boxes, bruised more in pride than anywhere else. "Woah, what's this guy _running_ on?"

Sam stood a few feet away, eyes searching for any kind of movement. He -unlike Dean- still held his shotgun, though the salt rounds they'd been using weren't exactly effective. "I dunno. He's gotta have a lot of rage fueling him at this pace. Kinda like shooting one of those carnival games, though."

"Still, thought tonight we'd be getting Casper. Instead we ended up meeting the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man."

Sam gave Dean a quick smile. "Maybe he's still angry over his union dues." A fast-moving piece of cardboard collided with Sam's face, knocking him over. Dean was laughing so hard, he almost missed dodging the missile aimed at his own head.

"Why must all who cross my path insult me? Foolish mortals! You've insulted myself and my fellow ghost kind for the last time."

"Oh we haven't even gotten started," replied Dean. Sam fired off a round towards the floating man in overalls. Dean had found his glock stuck underneath a nearby box and was now shot putting a few rounds into his own weapon. "You're a box ghost who's special move is throwing boxes. That, well, that just writes itself."

More barrages of cardboard. Sam and Dean took cover behind a weight bearing column. Both were breathing heavily. "But really, Dean," Sam hissed. "We've no idea what's tying him to this world. And he's not-" a crate slammed against their temporary blockade,"-he's not exactly in the mood to tell us. How do we finish this guy off?"

There was a fizz in the air and both men ducked. Two lime green bolts of light shot past them, knocking their assailant into the far wall. Then they heard a voice behind them. "Well usually I just fire lasers until he get's bored."


	6. Chapter 6

6

The new voice sounded strange, echoey, and... pubescent? On cue, both Wincesters turned around to face the newcomer. Then were forced to look up as they realized he was floating about 15 feet above them. He did look young. Though he had a shock of white hair and had one of those faces that made it hard to place his age. Sam guessed he was around 15/16. Dean put him at 12. Meaningless numbers when for all they knew, the kid had been dead for a hundred years. (Though unlikely, considering it looked like he was sporting a black and white hazmat suit.) Whatever his age, the boy floating above them must have died too young to go quietly.

"You think it's this town's 'ghost kid'?" Sam talked low, concentrating on maintaining eye contact with the ghost. Not exactly pleasant considering the ghost's abnormally green eyes and general florescent glow. His unnatural appearance made Sam's eyes want to slide right off him. It was only years of ingrained fear and caution that kept Sam locked on the apparition.

And Dean was throwing pieces of styrofoam at it. A few bounced off the ghost's chest, covered by what Dean thought might be a logo for an industrial company. Either that or a toothpaste ad.

Pieces of styrofoam continued to fly. "Will you stop that!" the boy finally cracking. The next chunk of styrofoam headed straight for the nose. But this time, it passed through, rather than bounced off.

Dean's face spread into a grin. "Woah, look at that!" He nudged Sam whose face was still frozen with anxiety. "Little guy can phase in and out pretty well. Handy. Wish I could've done that back when I was a middle schooler." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Hey, _high schooler_ , thank you very much." The kid (Sam had a hard time thinking of him as a ghost) was now lounging to one side, still floating. The pose and effortless weightlessness gave Sam's head a turn.

"Who are you two?" the boy asked. He eyed their loaded shotguns. "You're… not from the government, are you?"

Dean answered first, putting on his Mulder voice. "Erm yes." He cleared his throat, sounding suddenly gruff. "Yes we are."

The kid looked them up and down. The brothers were dressed to the nines- in rough jeans and faded flannel shirts. "Uh-huh..." Even though he'd sounded unconvinced by Dean's reply, the kid relaxed. "Well in that getup you're certainly not with the guys in white.

 _Guys in white?_ wondered Sam. _Well they sound...made up._

"Hmm," the boy's eyes landed on their shirts. "Maybe from the Department of Agriculture?"

Dean decided to continue the bluff. He gave the kid his sternest glare. "We're undercover."

"Didn't know horticulturists needed to go undercover. What do they do, uncover raw milk heists?" The kid was smirking, visibly enjoying himself.

Dean was a little slow on the uptake. "...No. Undercover for...the FBI. A special... _supernatural_ investigative unit." Sam rolled his eyes internally, _He never lets up on the X-Files?_

"Uh, huh." Disinterested, the kid now stared off into one of the high windows. "Well, it doesn't matter who you guys are. You're on my turf and seriously messing with my REM cycle."

"Your turf? So you're attached here?" Sam asked, fishing for clues. He bristled at the idea of exorcising the kid. He acted so...agreeable? But at the end of the day, ghosts were ghosts. Nothing in between.

"I'm not _that_ attached to this place. I mean my _general_ turf. Here I am, doing my nightly rounds and I have to listen to you guys messing around with Boxie in here."

"Wait nightly… you mean you _roam about_?" Sam had started to ask but was quickly cut off by Dean.

" _Boxie_?" The kids blase' attitude had started to wear on Dean. "Okay, ghost kid or no kid. We're here to do our job." He pulled another salt round out of his pocket, snapping it into place. "And that job is getting rid of _you_."

Danny clicked his tongue. "And aren't you forgetting about something?" He pointed behind them. Sam and Dean turned to look just in time to avoid a barrage of boxes slamming into them.

"I **am** the Box Ghost and **I WILL NOT BE IGNORED!** "

Dean slid back the barrel and took two shots at the ghost's torso, spraying his blue shoulder with salt. The wound sizzled as the remains of boxes spun about the room in a frenzy. "Okay, you got what you asked for. Not ignoring."

"Insolent humans! You shall pay for your… insolence!"

"Good job making him angry, Dean."

"What else am I gonna do?" He was quickly reloading with spare rounds from his pocket. "Pull your weight and find the friggin source!"

Dean heard next to his ear, "What's a source?"

"Jesus!" Dean started. Out of thin air, Danny had appeared next to Dean, halfway in and out of a refrigerator box. "How'd you get there?"

"Ghost powers. Gives me invisibility." He stepped through and out the box. "And mild intangibility." Another box flew through the air and instead of hitting the boy, passed through him just like the styrofoam earlier. "You didn't answer my question. What's a source?"

"A source is a spectre's ties to life, something that tied him to his living life." Sam buffeted away a few more cardboard missiles. "Could be something personal, like a locket or a car. Or something physical, like his body."

Danny made a face. "Gross." Up close, he looked even stranger to Sam and Dean. Oh sure, he still glowed green and the way he moved didn't always sync up. But he had more presence, more "actually" than any ghost the brothers had seen.

 _If you squint a little_ Sam thought _You could almost mistake him for a normal teenager_. Then he watched Danny shoot a green energy blast at an incoming box. He watched its blacked remains flutter to the floor. _Almost_. _Almost mistake him_.

"So you guys are looking for something important of Boxie's? What are you gonna do? Hold it hostage?"

Dean grunted and extricated himself from a pile of rubble. "Of course not. We destroy it. Break his ties to earth."

"Ah-ha! So that's how you were gonna to do it." He fired off another energy blast. Though this time he aimed it at the "Boxie" spectre.

 _He attacked another ghost_. _His own kind._ Dean thought. He watched as green light illuminated a ghastly smile. _And he's having_ _ **fun**_. Dean took a few steps back, distancing himself a little from the grinning spectre.

The ghost boy continued. "You can get rid of some of them that way. Break a few amulets, they disappear for a while. They always manage to find another way back anyways." Danny pulled out a small metallic tube from what Dean thought looked like a Batman utility belt. "Besides most of the ghosts here are probably attached to buildings. Wouldn't want to burn down half of Amity Park, would we?" He gave another, less terrifying smile, then spun and uncapped the tube in one motion.

As soon as it opened, the warehouse was lit by a pulsing wave of light. It swirled and circled into a single beam. Then they watching in horror as the beam pulled at the blue collar ghost, distorting his features until -with a final reverberating yell- he was sucked inside the cylinder.

Danny snapped the cap back on and the light gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"See, much easier."

The Winchesters stood dumbfounded at what they'd just seen. Though, as usual, Dean was the first to recover. "That was some Ghostbuster shit right there."

Danny did his best to look modest. "Well, you know. All in a day's work." He tried to casually toss the canister but fumbled the catch, nearly dropping it. His ears turned a bright green.

Sam, now that imminent threat was gone, drove right into the questions. "Where'd you get that? It's not exactly something you'd pick up at a Radio Shack."

"I don't think anybody'd sell that to a kid. Let alone," Dean gestured at Danny's glowing presence, "something like you." He still held his shotgun, full of salt rounds, at his hip. "So either you Peter-Parkered that shit or you lifted it from some tech-head." He lifted the barrel aiming it at the boy. "Either way, it's back to Spiritsville for you."

Danny took a few steps back. "One, it's called the _Ghost Zone_. And two," he raised his hands defensively as they starting to glow. "I just saved your guys' butts. Can't I get a little thank you?" His neck goosepimpled as he felt another rifle _The other brother_ rest against the back of his head. _Geez, these guys were_ _ **quick**_ _._

The power that'd been gathering in Danny's hands fizzled out. Dean lowered his gun as he made his way closer to Danny. "Not in the habit of thanking ghosts. Not ones that get a head of themselves. I mean, you are the reason why we came to this weird-ass town."

"I'm flattered."

"In all the blog posts, message boards, and newspaper articles we found, you're the one who rose to the top. Amity Park's number one menace."

Danny's eyes narrowed. "Don't believe everything you read in the paper."

"It'd be best to get rid of you right now. But…" Dean reached over to pluck the tube out of Danny belt. "I do wonder what the hell this thing is."

The gun behind Danny clicked and then, with Danny's sigh of relief, lowered. "So, tell us what this thing is and we won't..." Sam locked eyes with his brother. "At least, we _probably_ won't exorcise you." He caught his brother's eye again. "At least, we probably won't exorcise you _tonight_."


	7. Chapter 7

7

The brothers had never seen anything like it. Well, they'd seen _something_ like it when running with the Ghostfacers. But never something that'd worked. And never something that could even possibly have worked on such a big scale. No more digging up bodies to burn when you could just vacuum pack your ghost.

"Well," asked Dean, sitting on one of the few intact boxes. "Just what is this thing, ghost kid?"

Danny hesitated for a second. Then reluctantly. "It's a thermos."

"Yeah, I can see that. And I can see that it holds more than soup."

There was a sigh. "It collects and stores ecto-plasmic matter and energy using polarized fields."

Seeing Dean's confusion, Sam stepped in to translate. "You mean it's a magnetic ghost box?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

There was an "Ah-hah" of understanding that passed over Dean's face. He turned over the thermos in his hands. "Looks pretty high tech. You steal this?"

"No!" was Danny's automatic answer. "I mean, not really. Not in a way you could press charges. Great that makes me sound _really_ guilty." He was getting flustered. "Look, I'm not a thief." The brothers looked incredulous. "I just… borrow sometimes. For the greater good."

"So sneaking around at night is just a hobby?" asked Sam.

"Yes -I mean no." He gave them a piercing look. "Is it yours?"

"More of a family occupation," answered Dean. "So you 'borrowed' this thermos to do some nighttime vigilantism." He fought the urge to mention Batman. "To fight against your own kind?"

Here Danny was the one to look confused. "What? You mean ghosts? No, I'm not like them. Not-"

"Evil?" interrupted Sam.

"Dead."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Here we go…"

"Are you sure?" continued Dean. "Forgive us if we don't believe you, but you look pretty dead to us."

The boy looked both blank and vaguely offended.

"I mean, the floating around... the green glow…. You're not making the best case for yourself."

"Well, it's kindof a long story. But let's just say they're part of my supernatural gifts."

"You mean superpowers?"

"Sure, I guess."

A big grin plastered Dean's face as he turned to face his brother. "Look Sam, this kid thinks he's ghost Batman."

"What! No! Batman doesn't even-" Danny gave a pained look as his earpiece burst with feedback.

"Danny! _Danny_!" Tucker's voice echoed in his ringing ear. "Can you hear us Danny?"

"Yeah, you're coming in _loud_ and clear."

Two sighs of relief. Then ***Sam's** voice crackled over the phone. "We've been trying to reach you for ten minutes. Tucker says we lost the signal once you were in the warehouse."

"That or we might've thought you kicked the bucket. For good this time."

Tucker was chuckling at his own joke when Sam cut in again. "Didn't you wonder why the earpiece wasn't working?"

"Umm…" Danny eyed the two men with guns still standing in front of him. "I was a little busy."

"Errgh. This is why you don't go in without radio support. What if something had happened to you?"

"Stop nagging. It was _the Box Ghost_. Worst case scenario,I eat a few packing peanuts."

"Well, you know, those things can kill." Danny really hoped she could see his eye roll through the phone.

"Hate to break up this fight you two. But there _is_ a reason why we've been trying to call you." Tucker's rolly chair squeaked in the background. "Your parents are headed back from their nightly rounds. You've got about 8 minutes."

"What? NO. Dangit. I guess if I cut across 3rd…" He cut off talking to himself. "Wait, how do you know my parents are coming home?"

"I put a tracker in the Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle."

"You bugged MY PARENTS! That's… actually a good idea."

"I know it is."

"Okay, thanks. I'm just in the middle of something."

"Well wrap it up like a Christmas ham and get your butt back here." Sam had the weirdest metaphors. "Over and out."

"Got it."

Danny finally turned his attention back to Winchesters. The brothers had stood silently, even patiently, throughout the entire exchange, not sure how to react but rather enjoying the show.

"Sorry guys. Gotta book it or my parents will kill me. You know the drill."

Then before Sam or Dean could move, the boy dropped through the floor. His voice echoed after him. "Keep away from the warehouses and leave the ghost hunting to the experts."

"We ARE the experts!" yelled Dean after him.

"That was," Sam chose his words carefully, "Unexpected."

"Yeah, kid thinks he's some kind of superhero." He gave a little laugh, then found himself getting serious. "You think it's a Molly McNamara situation?"

"You were the one asking him all the questions. Maybe." The brothers turned, shuffling back out of the warehouse and towards the Impala. "It _was_ weird though. Not the usual haunting. Either of them."

Dean stopped walking, looking thoughful. "He kind of reminded me of someone though..."

"Who?"

"You, dumbass."

"What! How?"

"He was a smart-ass little punk."

"Ha, ha." The side door Dean jimmied to get in rattled as Sam opened it again. The wind outside was warm and leisurely. The perfect breeze you at the end of summer, before fall really sets in.

"What now? Follow up on some other leads?"

"Something like that." Dean still held the tube - _thermos_ \- that had vacuumed up the warehouse -the _box_ ghost. He squinted, trying to read in the dark. "Fenton Works," he made out.

"Hey, I think we passed by them earlier! A few blocks north of downtown." Dean looked blank. "You know, the one with the big satellite on top."

"Ahh, that one. I thought they were scanning for aliens. I guess in this town you scan for EMF."

"This is the Roswell of ghost hunting."

"Too bad for them ghosts are real."

"Well, technically…"

"We're **not** going to talk about the fairies."

"You're the one who mentioned Roswell."

"Well, just forget it. I don't want to think about it. It's… 2am and I'm turning in early for once."

"You just don't want to have those weird Tinkerbell dreams again."

"That was _one time_!"

"You mean one _month_."

"Shutupp."

"Okay, okay." Sam was laughing now. "So you go get your visions of sugar plums and we follow up this 'Fenton' lead tomorrow. Right?"

"Right."

 ***Not Winchester Sam. This is Sam Manson. The Sam with unresolved sexual tension with Danny. Though if you wanna read about Sam** ** _Winchester_** **'** **s** **unresolved sexual tension with Danny Phantom, I'm sure you can find that in the search bar. Good luck.**


	8. Chapter 8

8

"2 am," moaned Danny. " _Two-A-M._ "

"Hey you weren't the only one who was up late," replied Sam. Tucker was beside her, downing his third bologna sandwich.

"Yeah but you two didn't have a pop quiz with Mr. Lancer." Danny laid his head on the picnic table, trying to fend off a headache. "I'm pretty sure that guy has some sort of personal vendetta."

"Well, it's probably because all last year you were: one, late to his class; or two, asleep in his class," Sam answered. She had hit up the library before lunch and was now nose-deep in _Dracula_ for the third time. Danny and Tucker always wondered how she managed to talk and read at the same time.

Danny threw his hands up, exasperated. "Well, _ex-_ _ **cuse**_ _me_ for trying to save the town."

"Not judging. Just stating the facts."

He signed. "Yeah yeah. I guess it comes with keeping my ghost side job a secret. Anyways, how are you guys so chipper?"

"This is my 7th cup of coffee." Tucker had produced a thermos out of thin air. Danny got a strong whiff of espresso.

Tucker noticed Danny staring at the thermos. "What? The caffeine's been wearing off." They heard the first lunch bell ring. A few kids started filing out to class, but most ignored it.

"Got it." He could now see that Tucker was vibrating ever so slightly. "What about you, Sam? What's your secret."

"My secret is that I'm a creature of the night of darkness and therefore immune-" She interrupted herself with a large yawn. "Immune to drowsiness."

 _Maybe those dark circles aren't just eye makeup_ , thought Danny.

"I'm sorry guys. Sometimes I think-" he interrupted himself, pausing for a second. "Just… thanks. I would have never made it back in time if you both hadn't warned me."

"Yeah, you were out later than usual. What took you so long?" Tucker's glasses failed to hide his curious glare. Though Danny never took up Tucker and Sam's suggestion to fill out "official reports", they usually ran through the general happenings after a night's rounds. But Danny'd been too rushed and too exhausted to tell them about last night's escapades.

"Well, funny you should ask..." and then the final lunch bell rang. The rest of the students were getting up, with teachers shooing them out like stray cats. "Sorry, I'll tell you after school. Meet at Nasty Burger?"

"Why can't you tell us now?" Kids had started to shove the Danny away from Tucker and Sam.

"It's too long a story!" The last part he had to yell over Kwan, the tallest of the 10th graders. Then he was lost in the sea of letterman jackets and pastel cardigans.

Tucker looked over at Sam, who shared next period with him. "What do you think that means?"

"I dunno." A rare smile crossed Sam's face. "But I think he had quite the adventure last night."


	9. Chapter 9

The same time Danny & Co. broke for lunch, the Winchesters were just waking up. The afternoon sunlight had managed to pry through the motel's thick curtain—a natural, if unpleasant, wake-up call. It had been Dean's turn to make the food run. "Why didn't you just go to the grocery store?" argued Sam. "It's _right across the street_."

"Nah, they never have the breakfast sandwiches I like."

Sam shook his head at the "meal" his brother had managed to find. It smelled of frying oil and cigarettes. "Okay, but real food later?"

"Ofwh cwourse." Dean's words were muffled by the sausage sandwich he had already dug into. He swallowed. "There's that burger place a couple blocks away."

"You mean 'Nasty Burger'? The one with food poisoning in the reviews?"

"They've got pastrami burgers."

Sam sighed, "Whatever." He pulled over the laptop he'd been on when Dean came in. "I looked up this 'Fenton Works'. I was right. It was the place we passed by on our way downtown." Dean scooted his chair over.

"Yeesh, this their website?"

"Yeah."

"Can't expect too many customers if they still look like they're coding in 1996."

"Since when do you know anything about computers? Last week you asked me if a modem was a kind of cellphone."

"Hey, I use the internet plenty. Just not for research. Well, maybe _some_ _kinds_ of research." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"I guess I have you to blame for my internet history. This business **is** family-run. If you can call it a business. Doesn't look like it's making much money. No yellow pages or Yelp reviews. Just the site." Sam switched to another window. "And a whole lotta newspaper articles. The Fenton's have been getting a lot of publicity. At least in the ghost hunting scene. Which I guess is pretty big here considering how much they've made the front page."

"They don't call it ' _America's Most Haunted City!'_ for nothing."

"Kind of weird huh? Everyone here knows ghosts are real. But no chaos, no panic, no rioting in the streets. Instead they turn it into a tourist trap." He looked away from the screen and up at Dean. "Kinda makes you wonder what would've happened if someone like Dad went public."

"He would've been locked up. In this town or any." Dean leaned over to squint at the website Sam had pulled back up. A blurry photo took up most of the screen. A family stood in front of a large green and white van. There was a satellite dish sticking out the top. It was a family of four: the parents, a hulking man and a thin but tall redhead. Both were brandishing odd-looking firearms and grinning at the camera. A couple of teenagers—a teenaged girl and a younger boy—stood off to the side, the family resemblance clear. The mortified kids looked like they wanted to be anywhere but in the picture. It all seemed familiar, though Dean didn't place why. "That's a lot of equipment for a non-profit. Where does he get the funds to make something like that?" Dean pointed at the thermos that'd been sitting on the table since last night's/morning's escapades.

"Either the guy is a secret billionaire or he's a serious DIY-er."

"You don't exactly make tech like that in your basement."

"I don't know about that... apparently the guy and his wife are up to their eyeballs in engineering PHD's."

"It's still a lot of tech. That site at least has a phone number?"

"Yeah. There's public contact information for anyone who has experienced, 'Extrasensory phenomena, spectral/telekinetic manifestations, or,' _Get this_ , 'has seen that rampaging ghost kid'."

"Well, I think we hit the jackpot. We'll do the journalist cover?"

"Eh, better make it enthusiastic bloggers. Looks like these guys know the local media pretty well..."

"You mean use…?"

"Yeah."

"Egh. I hate tossing around _those guy's_ names."

"Well it's one of the few we actually have permission to toss around."

"Whatever." Dean crammed the last bit of sandwich into his mouth. "Lwat's gwoah."


	10. Chapter 10

The building was larger than they'd remembered, taking up most of the corner block. And the satellite on top looked like it was set up by NASA or the NSA. It certainly wasn't meant for just surfing through channels. At least no channels broadcasting from Earth.

Sam rung the doorbell. A the teenager from the picture online-the redheaded girl-opened the door. She gave them a sidelong glance, then yelled up the staircase behind her, "Hey Dad! The exterminators are here again!"

A gruff, but upbeat voice yelled back, "Good!" It grew louder as it descended the stairs. "Found those roaches again in the emergency ham…" The voice stopped as he got a look at the two men standing at his doorway. Of course, it was the family patriarch-Jack Fenton. Seeing their cameras and microphone equipment-stuff they'd picked up to complete the disguise-he laughed, slapping his daughter on the back. It was like a bear pawing a cat. "These aren't the exterminators!"

Dean leaned over and whispered in Sam's ear. " _See, we_ _ **could**_ _have been exterminators_."

" _It's too late for that_." He whispered back. " _Just go with the plan_." Sam put on a smarmy grin.

"Good afternoon. My name is David Scully-"

"And I'm Fox Anderson." Dean interrupted with a firm handshake. Which the large man took. Dean felt like he had grabbed hold of a jackhammer.

Sam was shaking Jack's hand now. Pulling away, he wriggled his fingers discreetly-the feeling had gone out of them. "May I assume we're speaking with Dr. Jack Fenton?"

"Yes sir! You can assume that!"

 _Does this man only speak in exclamation points?_ Sam thought to himself. "Ah, I _thought_ I recognized you from the photos!" He gave Dean the most sarcastic wink he'd ever seen.

"We're with the Minneapolis Monthly Paranormal Society." Dean held up a lanyard, an official looking press ID hanging from the end. (The lanyard was from a sports shop. The ID printed up at the local Kinkos.)

"We heard about your expertise in the field. And..." Sam paused, hoping the man would take the bait.

"Yes! Me and my wife have been researching ghosts since before little Jazz was born. Isn't that right, Jazz." He gave the teenager beside him a rough shake. She didn't answer her father. Like most teenagers, she looked perpetually embarrassed to be alive.

The silence lasted for about a minute before Sam broke. "Urm-ah, yes. As I was saying. We heard about your expertise and were wondering if you could give us an interview."

It was as if Sam had popped a balloon. All the bluster went out of the big man. "Ah, we don't usually make social calls. It's ah...hmn-something I'd have to run by my wife."

The redhead, Jazz, cleared things up. "Dad's not allowed to interview alone since the last February's Gazette exposé."

Dean mentally shifted through the Phenton articles he'd dug up this morning. "Oh, you mean 'Local Ghost Hunter Glues His-"

Jack Fenton quickly cut him off. "Yes, yes. The interview got a little out of hand and you know how those reporters can be. I mean, you should know! You're reporters yourselves! Anyway, I've got lots of important work to do. You know," he gave a nervous laugh, "important science work! Now if you could just-" Dr. Fenton was trying to slam the door in their faces as politely as possible. _Too friendly to kick us out_ , though Dean. But shutting the door was difficult-since Dean had wedged his foot between the door and it's frame. Alongside Sam's arm. Things were getting tight.

Jack Fenton was too good-natured to kick them out, outright. Sam sensed the weakness and stalled for time, "Sir, if we could just have a few minutes to talk about the recent ghost activity…"

"I'd love to boys, but I can't just let a couple of strangers into my home..."

"But sir-"

Dean cut him off. "If the man doesn't feel comfortable doing an interview without his wife, don't force the man."

"Hey, I never said I couldn't interview without Maddie-"

Dean pushed on. "We thank you for your time sir." He turned back a little, as if he were going to talk to Sam. "I just hope the Ghostfacers aren't too disappointed."

Jack Fenton's eyes went wide. "You know...You're acquainted with… the Ghostfacers?" Behind the man, the Winchesters saw his daughter rolling her eyes, throwing her arms up in defeat, and mouthing _Merciful God_.

Sam felt like giving Dean a high-five. (After leaving the Fentons, he did.) _So that's what Dean had been struggling over_. He rolled with the bluff that wasn't a bluff. "We've had… business with them in the past." Sam figured the more vague, the better.

Dean had resigned himself to the charade. "They're the ones that pointed us in your direction. Mentioned seeing an article about you."

"O I bet it was last year's Christmas spectre recipes! I told Madeline it appealled to the Ghostfacer demographic!."

Dean snapped his fingers and gave his best disingenuous smile. "That's the one!" Sam would have to make a call to Harry and Ed so they could back them up on this. 'Cause all of this was coming out of Dean's ass.

Jack Fenton was nearly bursting with excitement. "Well, I told Madeline I wouldn't be bringing any more journalists in. But the Ghostfacers..." They saw the big guy smile. Then suddenly both the Winchester brothers were being lifted into a bear hug. "Well the Ghostfacers are practically family!"


	11. Chapter 11

"Your father did _what_?!" Danny's mother was trying her best to sound reasonable. But reasonable was not what she was feeling. Family Spaghetti Night was getting pretty uncomfortable.

"Honeycakes, it was _**the Ghostfacers**_. Well, practically the Ghostfacers. Almost. At least acquaintances."

"I don't care if it was his royal holiness Sir Albert Einstein-— _Science God rest his soul_."

" _Science God rest his soul_ ," echoed back Jazz and Danny.

"Sweetness, eternal love of my life, they were just asking about the recent ghost activity around here. Nothing I couldn't handle." He said soothingly. "And besides, they were just a couple of young kids. What could they do?"

His two kids rolled their eyes. The guys had been at least 30. They were baby-faced and unGodly attractive. (Danny had noticed this passively. Jazz had felt it vehemently in her teenage girl bones.) But still, their visitors had definitely been older than "just young kids."

"Whoever they were, I'm not gonna have another incident like last February. All those reporters with their blogs and their "hash-tag Ghosthunter Goofs." She gestured towards Danny. "You know our boy's barely making it through high school as it is."

Danny nearly choked on a noodle. " _Wow_ , mom." he answered, playing it off and hoping it wouldn't get weird.

It quickly did. "Oh honey. I see you come home all the time after those boys at school hassle you." Her tone was serious and Maddie Fenton reached over to pat her sons arm. "You're a sensitive boy and we love you for it. But sometimes other kids just don't understand."

Jazz's eyes nearly popped out over her plate. And her brother could tell she was holding her breath, trying not to say whatever was going through her head. Or simply burst into laughter.

Pulling his arm away, Danny tried to brush it off. "Mom, I'm _fine_." He was visibly uncomfortable with the sympathy his mother was loading on him. What Jazz and Danny _both_ knew was that all those bruises she was so concerned over, weren't from kids that hassled him during school. They were from the ghosts hassling him _after_ school.

His mom drew back, a little hurt but trying not to show it. "It's okay, sweetums. We're here for you when you need to talk." She glared over at her husband. "As long as _some_ of us aren't too busy chatting up some tabloid muckrakers!"

" _Ghostfacers_ , Maddie. _**Ghostfacers**_."

"If you mention them one more time, I swear I will throw this beautiful plate of carbonara in your face." Then she stabbed her fork into her plate so hard, Danny thought he heard a prong break.

Her husband knew what the rest of the night would be like. Standing up, he lifted his plate. "Honey. Dearest. Let's go downstairs. Let the kids finish their dinner." He carefully slid his wife's plate of spaghetti out of her reach. "Don't want to waste food, huh?"

Danny's mother stared at the plate she'd been ready to throw. She forced herself to put it down. "You're right…" she chose her words carefully, " _ **dearest**_."

Jack Fenton was sometimes wiser than he looked. He smiled, and almost looked _happy_ to start arguing with his wife. "Alright kids, finish up your meal without us. Your mother and I are going to have a 'discussion' downstairs."

Carrying both plates of pasta, he and their mother walked out of the kitchen and towards the basement entrance. There was one final wave before Danny heard his mother start. "Why do you always insist we go _downstairs_ when-" then his father gently shut the basement door, cutting his wife off mid sentence.

Jazz practically spat out her food, sputtering with laughter.

"It's not _funny_ Jazz." He had one of those

His sister took a deep breathe, rubbing away tears that had leaked out. "Oh, come on. It was a little funny." She put on an overly concerned face, imitating her mother. _You just say what you feel, you're a sensitive boy_. She tried to lean over an pat her brother's arm but Danny swatted it away.

"Yeah, well what does it say about _me_ when even my own parents think I'm a loser." The table thumbed as Danny slid, slouching in his chair.

Now Jazz looked legitimately concerned. No longer teasing, she answered back. "Oh, Danny. You know they didn't mean it like that. They don't know what you actually do." She quickly glanced at the basement door, making double sure it was closed. "Of course they're going to make...assumptions." She glanced at his sleep-strained eyes, trying not to be obvious. "And you do look a little worse for wear. Anyone would get worried."

She was making him feel guilty. Guilty about nothing Danny hated when she did that. "I'm fine. I just...need some space." He shoved his plate away, barely touched. "I'm headed out. Tell Mom and Dad I'm at Tucker's."

Jazz still looked worried. "Sure. But are you gonna actually be with Tucker?"

Up now, Danny shrugged. "I don't know. If I've got time. What do you care?"

"Hey, I'm just asking." She tossed her fork onto the table. Apparently no one was finishing their dinner tonight.

"Okay, well don't. You've got your own stuff and I've got mine. You don't need to get in it. You're not Mom."

"I just get-" she paused, trying not to get angry. "I get worried. More than Mom because I actually know what you're doing at night. And I don't think asking whether or not you're going to Tucker's is unreasonable. Not when I don't know if you're gonna come home in one piece." At that last bit, Danny heard her voice brake.

The only thing worse than another guilt trip was leaving his sister crying. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. You're right, I haven't been getting sleep lately and- Well, I don't know where I'm gonna be tonight. Things have been...weird. I've gotta go find out some things and I don't know where it's gonna take me." Jazz still looked upset. "But if you do get worried, give Tucker a call. I'm pretty sure he's stuck about a thousand trackers inside my cell." Jazz looked a little confused and even more concerned.

"Don't worry," he hastily replied. "He's not paranoid. He just hates how often I lose my phone." Danny had lost a lot of phones-in the old river outside town, 4 separate parking lots, and he had lost count of the dumpsters he'd had to dive through.

Danny reached out to pat his sister's arm. "Really, don't worry about me." He gave her a little salute, walking through the far wall, with the farewell, "See you soon."


	12. Chapter 12

Tucker was munching on a jumbo cup of onion rings, wondering whether or not he should call Sam and Danny. It was 10 minutes after the agreed meet time, and both were no-shows. "Why am I the only one on time around here," he muttered.

"Because you're the only one who still owns a palmpilot," Danny answered, suddenly sitting on the other side of the booth. Tucker jumped, hitting his knees against the table and knocking over his cola.

"Geezes, gave me a heart attack." Then Tucker noticed the soda syrup. It was dripping down the tabletop and onto his lap. "Woah, no!" he yelped, sliding out of the way. He gave Danny a look. "You totally own me a soda."

"Who owes who a soda?" asked Sam, also appearing unexpectedly. Grabbing a handful of napkins from the dispenser, she tossed them over the spilled soda, then made Tucker slide over. He grumbled a bit, but relented. There was no way she was gonna sit next to Danny. It would have violated one of the unspoken rules. The rules that kept everything strictly platonic between her and Danny. Tucker wished they'd get it over with-break the rules and just start making out over the table. He'd have to make a quick exit. But it'd be worth it to get rid of all those sullen, moony looks the two gave one another.

Danny was laughing now. "Oh, he's just mad 'cause I accidentally made him knock over his soda."

"No, you just like doing that disappear/reappear thing to mess with me."

"Oh come on. It was an accident."

"Suuurre…" But Tucker wasn't so sure Danny did do it on purpose. Sometimes his friend was so quiet, even when he wasn't trying to be noticed. Not in a "doesn't talk", shy way. Danny talked all the time. (Except when Mr. Lancer or one of the teachers called his name.) But he could be hard to notice. Even Tucker, Danny's best friend, took a few minutes to see him come into a room.

Tucker suspected it was a ghost thing. It was a little spooky now that he thought about it, though Danny either didn't notice or didn't care.

Sam was smirking and already insulting him. "Yeah, but it _is_ kind of funny."

"You only say that because he doesn't do it to you." Tucker countered.

"Doesn't make it _not_ funny."

"Ha, ha, Sam. Let's talk about something else-distract me from my wet pants."

"Sure. We can talk about why we're here in the first place."

"Yeah Danny," Tucker added, wiping off his soda-soaked cargos. "You were trying to tell us something at lunch."

"And the bell interrupted, yeah, yeah. Well I was actually gonna tell you about last night."

"You mean when you dropped of the map?" Sam leaned back and folded her arms, going from smirking to looking irked.

"Yes. Sorry. But I have a good reason."

Mirroring Sam, Tucker also leaned back. Tucking his hands underneath his armpits, he also tried to look angry. He wasn't very good at it, and he half-smiled as he asked, "What was it this time? A purple gorilla? Another Skulker attack?"

"Isn't that what we're here for? The emergencies?That's just like you-" Sam was jumping to conclusions already, working herself up. Danny knew he had to stop her before she got any angrier.

"Hey, the GOOD reason I was AWOL was that I had to deal with **non-ghost** trouble." He leaned over the table. " _Ghost hunters_ " he whispered. And before either of his friends could interrupt, he added in a normal voice. "And **not** Valerie **or** those bozos in white."

"Well, who are we dealing with here?" Sam looked serious, well more serious than usual. "They have anything to do with Vlad?"

"Probably not. These two were carrying shotguns and waving around salt. Seemed a little low-tech for Vlad." He stole a couple of onion rings from Tucker's tray. "And," he mouthed around them, "they had no idea what the thermos was. Their eyes popped out of their heads when they saw me use it."

Tucker was nodding his head, leaning in and listening. "So we've got two guys-"

"Nice to assume they're guys." Sam added. She was teasing, less angry now.

Danny gave a sigh of relief inside his head, glad he'd been able to avoid yet another lecture. "They were." he confirmed. "Out of towners too."

"Well," Sam waved towards Tucker. "Go on, Tucker."

He continued. "Two random guys, coming to Amytville. Can't be that hard to find..."

"Not sure we want to find them. Seemed pretty set on putting a hole through my-" Danny stopped suddenly. He stared intently at something behind his two friends.

Both Tucker and Sam had failed to notice the restaurant door open and close behind them. They had also both failed to notice the two men, who had just come through said door, take a booth behind them. What they did notice was Danny take a nosedive for the table.

"It's _them_ ," he hissed. With a full view of the front door, Danny had watched the two brothers enter, horror slowing dawning on him as he recognized them, even without their firearms.

Tucker ducked down underneath the table. Sam pulled him back up, hissing "Don't draw their attention. _Relax_. Talk about something."

"Like what?" he was trying not to eye the strangers at the next booth, nervously adjusting his hat so it slid over one eye.

Sam pulled Tucker's hat off. "Something normal." Across from them, Danny was slouching so much his eyes were level with the table. He glared at the two heads as the sat down in the next door booth.


	13. Chapter 13

"I don't know why you didn't want to come here, Sammy." said Dean, glancing around at the faux-fifties decor. "This place looks great!"

Vinyl seats with the stuffing showing through, tiled floor that he hoped had been painted grey, the food being picked at by tables full of bored-looking teenagers, it didn't exactly inspire Sammy's confidence. "Let me know in a couple hours if you still think it's great."

"Don't worry, little brother. This thing-" He slapped his stomach for emphasis, "is made of iron. Remember that fair back in Johnston County?"

"Ugh! Don't make me remember!"

"Boy those were good times!"

"You didn't have a shirt ruined over 'good times'."

"Eh, it washed out. Speaking of Johnston..." Dean stands again. "I gotta hit the can. Order while I'm in the john."

Nasty Burger has started to hit the first dinner hour rush. The was was obnoxiously long—for a fast food joint—the crowd of people snaking through the tables like a line at Disneyland. Sam gave Dean his best " _Really?_ " look.

His brother shrugged back, half smirking. "Nature calls." Making his way back towards the mens room, Dean gestured Sam to get in line.

Trying not to roll his eyes, his brother got up. He muttered, loud enough for the teenagers behind him to hear, "Jerk didn't even tell me what he wanted."

On cue, Dean peaks his head out to holler at his brother, "Double cheeseburger" The bathroom door slams. Then opens again "And triple fries!"

At this, Sammy does roll his eyes and steps to the end of the line.

This entire time, neither of the brothers take notice of the trio listening in behind them—of not-so-normal teens trying very hard to sound like normal teens.

This is what had gone on during Sam and Dean's exchange:

"So how was..your game of... ball." It was supposed to be a question. But the question part was forgotten in Tucker's awkward delivery.

"Great," answered Sam, a little too loud. "Balls were…" she searched for the right term. "Made, we made lots of balls."

An old woman sitting close by gave their table a withering glare, then harrumphed, "Kids these days."

Scrambling, she retorted "How was your...piano lessons?" Tucker froze, he had never touched a (non-electrical) instrument in his life. "Uhh…"

Man, Sam was bad at lying on the spot. Tucker tried to recover. "They were..." He searched Sam's face, trying to read her thoughts for a good answer. She had none. "Fun?" He had found his missing question mark and put it in the wrong place.

As the bathroom door slammed behind Dean, Danny stopped the torture. "They're out of their seats," he whispered.

"They are?" Tucker asked. He had never actually gotten the courage to look at the brothers. Now he was openly searching for the guys they'd just been spying on.

"What'd I tell you," Sam dragged on Tucker's collar. "Don't be OBVIOUS."

"It's the guy at the end of the line," Danny confirmed.

Tucker did his best to slyly look over. "The one who looks like he just chopped down a tree?"

"Yeah," He gave a bit of a smile. "They both do. Maybe they're from Oregon?"

"Where'd the other guy go?" asked Sam.

"In the bathroom. Haven't broken eye contact since they came in."

"Ugh, So much for being subtle." She slipped a glance at the food line. "Well at least it looks like they aren't paying attention." They watched the man in line. Impossibly tall, with hair that looked like it came out of a shampoo commercial, he was hard to miss. Even from behind, Sam could tell this guy was attractive. She blushed at that thought.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Danny. "They said they were brothers…That might help us figure out who they are."

"And why exactly would we wanna figure that out?" Tucker asked.

"Maybe we can blackmail them," answered Sam. "From how you described them last night, their ghost-hunting methods don't sound exactly legal." Before he could protest, she stole a sip of Tucker's half-spilled soda.

"Hey!" Protectively, he scooched his tray closer to himself. "No more stealing Tucker's food!"

Sam rolled her eyes, while Danny snuck another onion ring. "Someday I'm gonna start charging you guys, then what?" mumbled Tucker. Ignoring him, Danny continued. "So we get some dirt on these guys, threaten to go to the police, get them to go away." For the first time today he started to look hopeful.

"Doesn't sound too bad to me," Tucker mumbled between a mouthful of onion rings. Eating food quickly was a great way to make sure it got into your stomach and not your moocher friends. "I mean, one: they don't know what you look like outside the suit, and two: we've already got one guy tailed!" He eye'd the man in line, ordering the Nasty Cobb salad. "Probably a softie anyways." Tucker turned back towards Danny. "So what's this other guy look like?"

He was answered by a man taking the shoulder of the man in line, smiling and talking familiarly. He wasn't as big as shampoo commercial, but he was still pretty tall. His clothes were worn, fit him well and a little rough around the had a permanent-looking 5 o'clock shadow giving him a rough and confident look. All in all, he looked like a model. But one that could gut you with a Bowie knife.

The color drained from Sam's face. "That's the guy you wanna blackmail? Gentle giant over there looks like a pushover, but that guy..." Sam slid over the tabletop. "He looks dangerous."

"Well, Danny did say that they were carrying _**shotguns**_ ," interjected Sam, her tone a little accusatory.

"Well so does my aunt," countered Danny. "But that doesn't make her dangerous. Well, it doesn't make her like, _scary_ dangerous."

The next moment, all three of them were looking at the table, floor or ceiling.

The two Winchesters settled back into their booth, divvying out their meal. Immediately, Dean dug in. Fingers greasy from the wrapping, Sammy was busy trying to look up something on his phone. After a few tries, he was able to pull up the website of the local paper.

"Take a look at this," sliding his phone into Dean's line of sight. Dean squinted at an article titled, "Scientists or Screwups: How the Fentons Failed Amity Park."

"Harsh," Dean commented. "So what? Ghosthunting isn't exactly the most prestigious job."

"Yeah, in _most_ cities. Because _most_ cities don't actually believe in the supernatural." He gestured at a sign above him that said _Spooky Special: Post a pic of your favorite ghost to Nasty Burger's website and get half-off our Wednesday shakes!_ "Here, ghosts are a given."

"I guess lucky them." He shrugged, still not getting where his brother was going.

"Business should be booming for these guys. Except for one thing." He swiped down to reveal a blurry photo that took up the entire screen. It was labeled "Amity Park's Phantom Boy Epidemic." If you squinted, you could see a black and white figure floating above a gas station sign. "It's the same kid we saw last night."

Dean perked up. "Ahh...The little smart-ass."

"Apparently the city's upset at the Fentons because they failed to catch the ghost. This ghost. Though…" Taking back his phone, he swiped through a few more articles. "They seem to change their opinion on whether the ghost is a menace…" He swiped a bit more. "Or some kind of hero."

Dean gave a sarcastic snort. "That'll be the day. Superhero ghosts. Sounds like a kid's cartoon."

"Weird or not, this 'ghost kid' shows up a lot. He's been involved with almost every major incident this year." He listed off, "An explosion at the high school...a quarantine at the high school...an giant monster made of lunch meat—at the high school." There was a puzzled look on Sam's face.

"Seems like there's a lot of incidents that happen at the high school," Dean added helpfully.

"Yeah…" There was a beat between them.

"Time to research?" asked Dean.

"Deaths at the high school?" added Sam

Taking up his brother's sandwich and what was left of his meal, Dean replied, "Guess we're taking this to go."

Hastily wiping his hands with a few napkins, Sammy got up as well. "We're not gonna do this like last time, are we?"

"What?" Dean winked. "Didn't like being the janitor?"

"No, I just didn't like you being the gym coach."

"Ah, those were the days."

"3 days."

"Still days."

The two left as Danny, Sam and Tucker stared after them, wide-eyed.

"Well, shit." said Sam.


End file.
